Fallen Angel
by Sonjadore
Summary: AU. Rachel has carried a dangerous secret for ten years, somehow managing to hide it for her lord, Godfrey of Ibelin. But with the arrival of Godfrey's son, she isn't sure she can hide it much longer. BalianOC. Rated M to be safe. ON HIATUS!
1. Of Heaven and Hell

**Disclaimer: The characters, as they appear in the film and the film's plot belong to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan. Rachel, however, is my creation.**

Author's Notes: This story is written from the perspective of different characters. If it seems choppy, it is because I am trying to reflect their thoughts. Please keep in mind also that this is my first Fanfic, so constructive criticism is appreciated.

And, without further ado, on with the story!

"_Clear the road, if you will." I hate those words. Arrogance, hierarchy…everything I've ever hated. Everything I thought I would leave behind when I became a knight. I shake my head. I was young, naïve…even if I'm not that much older than I was at the time, I feel older._

_I glance around to see if anyone else has reacted the same way to the squire's words. No. Not even Brother Paul, although I notice that he has lost his perpetually cheerful smile. _

_We pass a burial. A woman. At the crossroads…I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold. I silently pray for her, for I know what it feels…_

_I shake my head again, as though trying to clear it of these intrusive thoughts. I know that I am being foolish; no one can read my mind. And yet…_

_I owe Godfrey de Ibelin everything. Including my life. But if he knew of my deception, he could just as easily end it._

_Is it still a lie if no words are spoken?_

"That is the man; that is the man!" Balian reluctantly stepped forward from the shelter of his forge. His corrupt half-brother was the last person he wanted to face. Last night's conversation was still too clear in his mind.

"_I wasn't present at the burial…"_

"…_without sin…"_

"_That is a sin!"_

To his surprise, his brother was followed by six men; armored, on horses. _What do they want?_ Hadn't he suffered enough, knowing that he had lost both his wife and child? Knowing that his wife would be turned away?

Would the child be held responsible for his mother's 'sin', and turned away as well at the gates to God's Kingdom?

"You're an armorer, yes?" It wasn't a question. "An artificer according to your lord and this…priest." The speaker wore black livery embellished with a white cross. "You have my sympathy and my blessing," he continued. "Your dead wife and stillborn child are today the subject of my prayers."

Balian ducked his head. _Save your prayers, He will not hear them._

The man gestured to his companions. "We need all these horses shod. We need food, and we'll pay." Balian's eyes flickered towards one of the men; one who hadn't looked away from Balian's face since the rather one-sided conversation began.

Balian turned away and nodded to his apprentice. "Says yes." Balian stepped back to let the horses pass.

_I stand a distance away from the others, my eyes fixed on the blacksmith. I remember the burial we passed on the road, and my heart fills with sorrow for the poor man._

"_He has made great engines for sieges." The priest is speaking. I close my eyes. I cannot stand his voice. It seems…oily, and it reminds me of someone else. Someone whom I would gladly strangle with my bare hands. "He has made war machines that cast the largest stones." _Please, shut up,_ I think. "He also works finely in silver." _Why do we need to know this?_ "He will be one of the few on your journey worth more alive than dead." _Ah.

_Odo barely glances up. "Shut up," he says. I bite back a grin. I'm growing rather fond of this man, actually._

_The priest mercifully complies._

_The blacksmith - Balian?- scrapes a horse's hoof. I marvel at how calm the animal is. The man does have a gift._

"_Have you been at war?" Odo asks._

_Balian strokes the horse's neck. "On horse. And as an enginer also."_

"_Against who and for whom did you fight?"_

"_For one lord against another," Balian replies. "On a point which cannot be remembered." _

"_There's better game now - one god against another," Odo says. I cannot tell if he is serious or not. "The pay is proportionate."_

"_I've been telling him that." The priest. Again. Odo silences him with a look._

_I turn away, seething quietly. Is that all they think about? Can they not countenance the fact that many innocent people are dying over a matter this vain?_

_Out of the corner of my eye, I see Paul approach Lord Godfrey. I strain to hear them._

"…_what you advised upon the road?" Godfrey asks._

_Paul nods. "I do, my lord. But know that this man, Balian, mourns his wife." I shake my head. How could Godfrey _not_ know that?_

_I hear Odo speak behind me again. "What does that say?"_

_What does what say? I cast my eyes over the forge until I see words carved into one of the beams._

"_What man is a man who does not make the world better," Balian answers, fixing a horseshoe. _

_I smile. It's beautiful. Did he put it there? I open my mouth to ask, but I am interrupted._

"_Leave me with this man." Godfrey. I back away. Some things are best left alone._

Balian barely cast a glance at the man speaking. He focused on the horseshoe, hammering it into the proper shape. He raised it to eye level. Still crooked. He landed a few more blows on it.

"God has made us man. We must suffer all." Balian looked up. "I also have lost." Balian had no reply to this. The man glanced at the ground awkwardly before continuing. "Some say Jerusalem is the very center of the world for asking forgiveness. For myself, I call it here. Now." He paused. Balian turned away; he had no time for this. He picked up a cooling horseshoe and laid it on the anvil.

"I knew you namesake," the man said suddenly. Balian froze. "I knew your mother." In his shock, Balian dropped the shoe and stared at the speaker wide-eyed.

"To be courteous, I should say that it was against her objections. But I was the lord's brother and she had no choice." Balian's throat constricted. "But, I did not force her. I have forgiveness to ask of you," his father said, bowing his head.

Heat rushed to Balian's face. _Forgiveness._ The very word pulsed through his veins like poison. If the Lord himself could not forgive his wife for her sin…Balian brushed past his father. He had work.

But his father would not leave it at that. "I am Godfrey, the baron of Ibelin." Balian turned to face him. "I have one hundred men at arms in Jerusalem. If you will come with me, you will have a living --" Here, he paused. "And…you will have my thanks, there it is."

"Whoever you are, my lord," Balian said, "My place is here."

"What made it your place is now dead."

_No…_

"You will never see me again," Godfrey said. "If you want anything of me, take it now."

"I want nothing," Balian said quietly.

"I am sorry for you troubles. God protect you."_ God does not know me._ Godfrey turned and strode out of the forge. Balian followed, gazing off into the distance as the horses trotted away. One turned and came back. Godfrey. _Could this man not leave him alone?_

"Jerusalem is easy to find. You come to where the men speak Italian, then continue until they speak something else. We go by Messina. Goodbye." He spurred his horse down the trail.

Balian stood in a stunned haze. After all these years, he had met his father. And he had been given the chance to leave France. He could have left it all behind. And yet…

He couldn't leave. He still felt rooted to this village. He was needed here. He had grown up here.

His wife's grave was here…

Through his stunned stupor, Balian thought he could see his brother glaring at him. But it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

* * *

Balian pumped the bellows to the fire. It was now night, and his apprentice had long since left. But Balian needed to be here. He needed to work, or he feared he would lose his mind to grief.

"The village does not want you." Balian turned slightly, seeing his hated brother. _Go away._ "When the old lord is dead, they will drive you out."

Balian ignored him, pushing the bellows instead.

"When the bishop is dead, it is certain!"

"And you take my property," Balian said curtly.

"The Church-"

"You."

His brother paused, regrouping. "They would have taken you to Jerusalem…away from…all this," his brother said, echoing Balian's earlier thoughts. "I arranged it." Balian did not reply, prompting the priest to step forward angrily. "I swear to you, you will have no peace so long as you stay here. No man ever needed a new world more. Imagine you sin and pain erased. All."

Balian stared down into the glowing coals until his eyes hurt. No matter their blood relation, the man standing before Balian had never been family. Why would he start now.

Balian pulled a half-finished sword from the fire and hammered it down on the anvil.

"If you take the Crusade, you may relieve your wife's position in Hell.

_No…_

"I put it delicately. She was a suicide. She is in Hell."

_No…_

"Though what she does there without a head…"

_God, no…_

Balian faced his brother, longing to remove that sickening smile from his face. In the firelight, something glinted around the man's throat. _His wife's crucifix._

Something inside Balian boiled up. _"You never fight back…"_ He couldn't think…or breathe. _Why, God?_

With an anguished yell, Balian plunged the sword into his brother's stomach, pushing him back onto the fire.

_What had he done?_

He could hear his brother yelling. And then…_the crucifix!_ Balian grabbed at the small glint of silver, ignoring the searing heat. As his hand closed over it, the priest grabbed his arm. Balian pulled back, hauling him out of the fire.

_Oh, God…_

Balian pushed his brother's arm away from his. His brother ran blindly - a demon from Hell - before collapsing on the far side of the forge.

Balian opened his clenched hand, revealing a silver cross upon his burned palm.

_Why…_

He caressed the trinket softly before bolting outside.

_I could hear hoof beats behind us. My hand immediately fell to my sword. "Wait here," Godfrey said, trotting back on the trail. I glance around, and inconspicuously nudge my horse into a trot, remaining a few steps behind my lord._

_The mystery rider approached, and I squint, trying to make out his face. My lips part slightly with surprise. Balian?_

"_Have you come to kill me?" Godfrey says, his voice amused. "Even these days, it is not easy." Balian does not reply. "Well?'_

_Balian rode a few steps closer, averting Godfrey's eyes. "I have done…" he stops, struggling to find the right words. "Murder," he finally spits out. He finally meets Godfrey's eyes._

"_Haven't we all?" Godfrey replies understanding in his voice._

"_It it true…that in Jerusalem I can erase my sins…and those of my wife?" I lower my head, finally understanding how tortured this man's soul is. "Is it true?" he asks again, desperation in his voice._

"_We can find out together," Godfrey replies. "Show me your hand," he adds._

_Balian raises his right hand, the grey cloth tied around not quite concealing the burns. Godfrey gestures for Balian to follow._

_I duck my head as he passes. The hoof beats stop…and my Lord of Ibelin looks down at me. I open my mouth to explain…if he suspects anything…my life hangs precariously enough as it is…_

_I don't have to say anything. Before he passes, I could almost swear that I saw a smile flicker over his lips._

_I look up again, and start: Balian is level with me. My mind swirls again; what do I say? "I'm sorry," I finally blurt out. I could kick myself. Sorry for what? Sorry for your loss? Sorry for overhearing? Sorry for lying to your father? To you?_

_To my relief, he doesn't question me further. I nudge my horse in beside his, keeping pace. _

"_What is your name?" he finally asks._

_I bite my lip. I've done it hundreds of times…so why is it so hard to lie to this particular man? _Say it,_ I tell myself. Balian watches me, bemused by my silence. A few more seconds and he may figure it out._

_I finally answer. "Robin," I say, and I immediately wish that I could take it back._

TBC…

Sorry for the slow chapter, but it needs to start somewhere! It will get better, I promise!


	2. Beyond What You See

**Disclaimer: Anything familiar belongs to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan. This story may unconsciously take on a tone similar to the style of Jodi Picoult. There is no copyright infringement intended. She is an exceptional writer and I have been reading a lot of her works recently.**

_The stars map the sky. I tilt my head back as I stare up at them, their names running through my head: Orion…Cygnus…Pegasus…_

_I have always been fascinated by the night sky. How the moon slowly appears, and then disappears. How the stars seem to change with the seasons. _

_The constellations, for me, are akin to friends. _

_Probably because I have none. Maybe I am too shy. But I am afraid, that if I grow close to anyone, they will discover my secret._

_Behind me, someone sighs and tosses restlessly. I know that it is Balian before I turn._

His mind was in turmoil. His wife was in Hell; his child was lost in the void between Heaven and Earth; he'd killed his brother. Balian squeezed his eyes shut. _I hope to find forgiveness._ But could God forgive him, if He did not know him?

Balian heard a slight rustling behind him. He turned over onto his back and saw Robin kneeling over him, an expression of concern glimmering in the man's green eyes.

"So it appears that I am not the only restless one," Robin said in a low voice, careful not to wake anyone else. Balian turned away. "What do you think about?"

"My wife," Balian whispered. "Her soul…" His brother's word's came back to him. _"She was a suicide. She is in Hell."_

It wasn't until Robin asked "How do you know?" that Balian realized he had spoken the words out loud. He chose not to reply.

Robin sighed. "You must not tell anyone about this, but…" He breathed in deeply. "I do not believe that half of what the Church considers to be a sin actually is." Balian stared at him in wonder. "I know! It's blasphemy, but I cannot help it!" Robin calmed slightly. "Is grief a sin?" he asked.

"What…?"

"Is it?" Again, Balian found himself at a loss for words. " 'Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted'," Robin quoted. "You do not feel that that is relevant? Does the eighth commandment not state 'though shalt not kill', yet entire armies murder innocents in His name? Would God then condemn a grieving mother? Would He not understand the pain of losing a child?" Robin stared into Balian's eyes. "I do not believe she is in Hell."

_I am at a loss for words. What else can I say? Do I understand the pain of losing all that I love? Can I ever truly understand this man's grief?_

_I look back up at the stars. "That's Orion," I say. "The great hunter." Balian looks at me as though I've taken leave of my senses. "And Draco."_

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_The stars, Balian!" I exclaim. "Have you never looked beyond what is seen on first glance?" I am determined to make him see what I see. "Look." I point to the sky, tracing lines and shapes. "Orion's belt." Balian squints. He still does not see. "Trace the stars," I whisper. "Look beyond what you see…" I trace the lines in midair. "Can you see it now?"_

_A small smile spreads over Balian's face. "I think I'm beginning to."_

* * *

_I hear the sound of water splashing on water. I try to locate the sound. My head whips away, and I curse myself for my curiosity as a dull blush creeps into my cheeks._

_Why does it still embarrass me? It is one of the body's natural functions, and I should be used to it by now. But it still remains one of the mysteries that belong to my companions._

_It is Firuz who comes to my rescue. "Hey!" he shouts, throwing a branch at the accursed squire. He continues to yell at him in a foreign language. I cannot understand what he is saying, but I highly suspect that several of the words uttered are curses. _

_I smile secretly as I return to camp. Balian is asleep, clutching a blanket to his chest. I know that he barely slept last night, so I think it best to leave him be._

_He looks…so innocent, vulnerable. I can almost forget that he has killed a man. But then again, so have I._

_That's why I'm here, isn't it?_

Balian awoke to the sound of metal clattering on the ground. A sword lay next to him.

"Pick it up," Godfrey said. "Let's see what you're made of." Balian moved to stand.

"His hand is hurt, my lord," Paul interjected.

"I once fought two days with an arrow through my testicle."

_And I pray I will never have to do the same._

Balian had barely stood when Godfrey swung at him. He scrambled to pick up the sword, his reflexes awaking as his blocked. Godfrey swung at him three times. Balian stared in astonishment. He had never fought anyone this strong before.

Godfrey struck one more time. Balian blocked, assuming a low guard.

Godfrey appraised him. "Never use a low guard." He motioned for Balian to follow him. "You fight well. Let's work on your skills."

Godfrey raised his sword over his head. "Take a high guard, like this. The Italians call it la poste di falcone - the guard of the hawk. Strike from high, like this." Godfrey brought his sword down with a _whoosh_ as it cut through the air. "Do it."

Balian raised his sword. "Sword straighter," Godfrey instructed. "Come on." He tapped Balian's thigh with his sword. "Leg back, bend your knees. Sword straighter." He appraised Balian's stance, and, apparently finding it satisfactory, said, "Defend yourself." He struck. Balian managed to block. Godfrey turned both their swords, trapping his son's. While Balian struggled to regain control, Godfrey brought the hilt up, stopping it a few inches short of Balian's face. "The blade isn't the only part of a sword." He pushed Balian back. He brought his sword back up again. "Attack." Balian struck downwards, his sword meeting Godfrey's with a loud _clang_. For a few moments, the sound of swords striking was all that could be heard over the wind.

Then Godfrey struck the underside of the blade, knocking it from Balian's hands. Balian stepped back as Godfrey swung at him two more times.

_They are not equally matched. Balian cannot compete with his father's skill. I open my mouth to say something, but Odo beats me to it. "I have you leave?" he requests._

_Godfrey nods, and the German steps in to take his lord's place. "Pay attention," he tells Balian._

_They both assume a high guard. Odo strikes first, and Balian moves to block._

_I close my eyes, listening until I can believe that the clanging of the swords is part of the landscape. I mentally chide myself. I know, deep down, that I would not have been any more of an equal adversary against Balian._

_I open my eyes in confusion when I hear hoof beats._

A contingent of guards rode up to meet the camp. "What's this?" Godfrey said in confusion. Godfrey's men eyed the approaching figures with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

Balian lowered his sword. A sinking feeling overtook him. He should have known…

Godfrey stepped forward to meet the lead rider.

"Uncle," the rider said.

"Nephew," Godfrey replied coolly.

"You have with you a man, Balian, who killed a priest, his brother." Balian lowered his head. Hearing it spoken out loud made it all the more real, undeniable. "I'm charged by both my father and the lord bishop to bring him back."

Godfrey turned to face his son, and unfathomable expression on his face. "What he says is true," he said quietly, looking anywhere but at his father. "They have the right to take me."

"I say he's innocent of the charge," Odo challenged. "If you say he's guilty, then we'll fight, and God will decide the truth of it."

"My German friend is a close student of the law," Paul added in an amused tone. His smile, Balian noticed, was missing, betraying his true feelings.

"Just give him to me. I'll fight you for something else."

Godfrey studied Balian's face, and, astonishingly, winked. "Uncle, he's a murderer."

"So am I," Godfrey said. "Whoever dies here today, you will certainly be among them."

"You are my uncle. I must give you the road," the rider said ominously. "Hyah!" He spurred his horse away, the others following him.

A feeling of trepidation overtook Balian. Surely, it would not be that easy.

_I don't like it. I don't like it at all. Why would he willingly leave without Balian? Why would he disobey his orders?_

_Godfrey sheaths his sword. His expression mirrors my thoughts. I look around uneasily, my hand on my sword._

_Firuz is on his horse. "Heinrich!" he shouts. "Gen suan!"_

_Without warning, Heinrich is shot. I spin around. _OhGodohGodohGod._ We aren't prepared for this._

"_To the flanks!" Godfrey shouts, as Firuz's horse is felled by an arrow. Odo is struck in the throat by an arrow, and he falls. My mind is screaming. I force myself to move. Where the bloody hell is my bow?_

_A rider charges at us. Godfrey is ready for him. Mounted on a horse, he turns to meet the assailant, his sword cutting through the man's flesh._

_I did not see what happened, but I could hear Godfrey yell in pain. When I lift my head, I see that he has been shot. My heart stops. If he dies…if my lord dies…where will I go?_

_Godfrey, fighting through the pain, raises his sword and cuts down another rider._

_I draw my sword clumsily, searching frantically. Where is Balian? I see a man run at me, his sword raised, ready to strike._

_I am faster. My blade catches him about the middle. I flinch as the warm blood flows out around my hands. Wrenching my sword free, I spin around, and…I see him._

_Balian is in trouble. He has been thrown against an uprooted tree by a brawny guard. I run at the man, wincing as I collide with metal. My adversary throws me off easily; my weight is simply an inconvenience. I lose my sword. My hands fly over the ground; the guard is bearing down on me. _

_Improvising, I snatch a loose bolt and plunge it between the man's ribs. I spring back to my feet, grabbing the other man's sword. My eyes lock with Balian's; he nods his thanks. I raise my eyebrows, and return to the fight._

* * *

_It doesn't matter how many battles I've seen; I will never get used to the blood spill. The skirmish is over, and I survey the aftermath. Corpses are littered through the wood, fallen weapons laying by their masters. Blood turns the ground to a paste._

_Only five of us remain. Godfrey, Balian, Paul, Thomas, and I. _

_Firuz and Odo lay beside each other. I bow my head, praying. I turn my face away from the others. I do not want them to see the tears escaping my eyes._

"I am the son of --"

"Take your helmet off while addressing me."

Balian watched his father converse with one of the remaining soldiers. He tried to avert his eyes from the bloody bandage now tied over his father's chest.

The soldier complied, clearing his throat. "I am the son of Roger de Cormiere." Godfrey did not react. "I am accorded the privilege of ransom."

"This is true," Godfrey said. Using his sword as a crutch, he walked unsteadily away from the scene.

Thomas raised a pike behind the man's head. With a crunch, it broke through the skull. Blood spurted from between the links of the chain mail. The pike was wrenched out, and the guard fell limply to the ground.

Balian looked away from the grisly sight. His eyes fell on Robin. Robin's face was milk-white, with a look of shock at the sudden violent act. Balian lowered his eyes. Did Robin think that of him, too, after learning of what he had done?

_The sight of the blood and matter sickens me. Granted, they had attacked us, but this violent execution is--horrible. The body falls; added to the accumulation. _

_Balian's eyes are on me. I stare at him until he looks away. I cannot help but wonder if it would not have been better if we had turned him over._

_I shake my head angrily at myself. _And leave him to certain death?_ That does not make me any better than the men who attacked us. _

_I look down at my hands. Blood stains them. Blood of the men whose position I could have easily been in. Blood of men who have families, children, even…And I killed them._

_I lean over and retch into the foliage._

* * *

Godfrey groaned in pain as Paul dug the arrowhead from his body.

"Ah," Paul said as he extracted it. "Well, you broke the arrow." Godfrey panted in pain. "If the ribs are broken, some marrow may enter the blood, in which case you'll take a fever and die."

Balian listened in disbelief. His father was dying, and it was his fault. He should never have come.

Paul was not finished. "Or a cyst will form, and you'll live. You're in the hands of God," he said with a slight smile.

"Get me some more wine," Godfrey said raggedly. He beckoned Balian over.

Balian knelt uncertainly by his father. "It was not that they had no right to take you - it was the way they asked," Godfrey said.

"They had the right to take me," Balian said quietly, his voice laced with guilt.

Godfrey smiled. "So do I."

* * *

"Can you see it yet?" Robin asked later that night.

Balian squinted at the stars, trying to arrange the stars into a dragon. "No," he said.

Robin fixed him with a piercing stare. "Then maybe you're not looking hard enough."

Balian bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He didn't need to elaborate.

Robin sighed. "You do not need to apologize," he said. "I think, for once, I understand."

TCB…

One of Firuz's lines, which I spelled as "gen suan", was not subtitled so I spelled by ear. Spelling error in this is almost a certainty. If anyone knows the correct spelling, let me know, and I will gladly change it.


	3. Interlude: Reflections

**Disclaimer: Anything and everything from the movie belongs to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan. Rachel, however, is my creation.**

A/N:

-Sorry for the late update; I'm suffering from a severe case of writer's block combined with exams and a spontaneous vacation. Also, I couldn't figure out how to tie this into the actual chapter, so I decided that it could fly by itself. Let me know if it works!

-Thank you to my sole reviewer!

-For the time being, the story will only be told from Robin and Balian's POV. I may add other characters' later on.

-To anyone who is wondering "Who the (censored) is Rachel?", you'll find out soon enough ;)

* * *

_It's early morning. The sun has just begun to rise, giving the sky a pale orange glow. Though no snow covers the ground, the air still clings to winter's chill. The horses' breath blows out in clouds of white._

_Balian and I are both unarmored. Part of me wonders why; chain mail absorbs the cold air like a sea sponge, and frost accumulates in between the links. But after the ambush, I suppose that they are not willing to take risks. Balian, however, has an excuse: he owns no armor. As for me…_

_Maybe its that fact that I know I can fight better when I'm not weighed down those hated metal links. Or is it because, secretly, buried beside my other secret, I wish for death? But if that were the case, why am I still alive? I already know the answer. _

_I am afraid of what the afterlife will bring. I could have died, all those years ago…but my soul would not have been at peace. I wanted forgiveness, absolution…and even now, ten years after fleeing to the Holy Land, I know that I have still not found it. If anything, I have damned myself further, trapped in the center of my own lies._

_I could end it; confessing would be as good as signing my own death sentence. But I would prefer to die nameless; one of the other thousands lost to war. There are many who would not understand my feelings, but I do not want to be remembered. I want to die the way I was born: insignificant. _

_I'm not much of a knight , really; I'm more of a renegade._


	4. For Another's Arrogance

**Disclaimer: Recognizable characters? Not mine. Unrecognizable characters? Possibly mine. Characters you don't recognize because I've given them different names or because you haven't seen the movie and/or haven't seen the movie in a long time? Still not mine.**

A/N:

-Writer's block. Don't you love it? That's my excuse for the late update.

-Slow chapter this time around, sorry 'bout that.

-All information about Andromeda comes from the wikipedia

-Invisible chocoalte to anyone who manages to guess Robin's secret! (guesses make me happy!)

* * *

There is entirely too much corruption among religion, _I think. There is a poor excuse for a priest at the Pilgrim Road preaching to his flock._

"_To kill an infidel, the Pope has said, is not murder," he proclaims. "It is the path to Heaven."_

"_Repeat that!" someone calls._

"_To kill an infidel…" But by what definition is an infidel? Is it simply decided by the color of our skin? Our gender? Our religion?_

_By that thinking, we took Jerusalem from its people, despite the fact that all religions had been welcomed there. By that thinking, thousands of innocent lives have been lost._

_By that thinking, it has become acceptable to murder infants, guilty of no sin._

_Can they not see that the a true infidel is one who is ignorant? The one who would stain their hands with the blood of innocents? There is one thing I wonder, though. Do the Saracens have the same line of thinking?_

_I pray for all our sakes that they do not._

_A cool breeze rushes through the camp, carrying with it the scent of the camp. Smoke, sweat, waste, cooking (to say nothing of burning) food…it all mingles together in the unique scent that is the Pilgrim Road. _

_Abandoning my gloomy thoughts, I survey the camp. It is unlike any other village in all of Europe and the Holy Land. People of all nations have gathered here for much of the same reason: Jerusalem._

_Hardships do not discriminate. Rich and poor alike gather; lord and peasant. Even here, though, you can differentiate. The wealthy possess more belongings; horses; carts to travel in, the lords even more so. They dress in finer clothes, despite the roughness of the road. They look ridiculous, like over-dressed pompous peacocks. The poor huddle around small campfires, wrapped in rags, cooking meager portions for themselves and families. They carry all they own. And yet, the rich still snub them; sticking up their noses whenever a peasant passes._

_For the umpteenth time, I thank the Lord that Godfrey does not consider himself above the average peasant. We have camped in the center of activity, yet far away enough so we will not have to listen the priest's offensive 'sermons'. Godfrey, practical as always, has assigned myself, Balian, and Phillip to clean the weapons. In his state, I think it best not to argue._

_My lord is failing fast. He managed to ride to the camp, but I fear that the strain it has put on his body will kill him if the fever does not first. Paul has thankfully convinced him to lie down and now dabs at Godfrey's wound with a cool cloth._

_I can tell how much it pains him. Godfrey never was the type to allow someone else to take care of him, but now, he has no choice._

"_When shall we stop this madness?" Paul asks rhetorically._

_Godfrey answer anyways. "It will soon be beyond my concern." There is no fear or bitterness in his voice, only acceptance._

_It frightens me._

_As the thought crosses my mind, Godfrey's expression changes. God, I know that displeased look far too well; it is often directed at me. _

_It doesn't take me long to locate the origin of his displeasure. A man has approached, wearing a white surcoat bearing a red cross over his chain mail: the insignia of the Templars. He might have passes for a knight were it not for the fact that he was dripping in furs and bore a snide, arrogant, pompous expression on his face: The physical embodiment of everything I hate._

_Guy de Lusignan._

"_Who is this?" he demands in his oily voice, gesturing to Balian._

"_My son," Godfrey answers, anger and (could it be?) pride in his voice._

_Guy chuckles. "If I had fought you when you were still capable of making bastards…"_

_My mind is screaming. _Don't you talk to him like that! _Balian glares at him. If looks could kill, Guy would be facing the molten gates of Hell at this very moment._

_Godfrey, however, remains calm. " I knew your mother when she was making hers," he says in disgust. "Fortunately, you're too old to be one of mine." I swallow a snort of laughter._

_Guy looks ready to murder Godfrey, but even he knows better than to try anything when Godfrey is guarded, now matter how few there are._

"_All will be settled," he snaps, trying to disguise it behind a harsh laugh. He stalks off._

All will be settled…_I doubt he knows how right he is. _

"Who is he?" Balian asked Robin quietly once the white surcoat had vanished from sight.

"Guy de Lusignan," Robin answered curtly.

Balian set aside his borrowed sword. "What exactly did he want?"

Robin drew a circle on the ground. "You must understand that there are some in the Holy Land who would gladly incite a war for their own personal gain. He-" here he jerked his head in the direction that Guy had retreated "-is one of them."

"Then why would he…?"

"Give it no further thought until you need to," Robin interrupted. "Your life will be a lot more pleasant if you do."

* * *

"There. Andromeda," Robin said, pointing to another grouping of stars. "The mythological daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopia, the king and queen of Ethiopia."

"And…?" Balian prompted, sensing there was more to the legend. He had become quite eager to learn the legends behind the constellations.

Robin smiled. "Cassiopia claimed that she was more beautiful than the nymph-daughters of Nerus, consorts of Poseiden, the Sea God. To punish the queen for her arrogance, Poseiden sent a monster to ravage the coast of Ethiopia. When Cepheus consulted the oracle of Zeus, he was informed that no respite would be found unless he sacrificed his virgin daughter Andromeda to the monster. Thus, she was chained to a rock on the coast. And I shan't tell you anything else until you can see her."

Balian groaned inwardly. Typical. Robin could be so infuriating at times! "There," he finally said.

"Outline it," Robin said, amused.

Balian gritted his teeth to keep himself from shouting in frustration. Raising his right hand, he awkwardly connected the stars with an invisible line.

"Bravo. Alright, then." Robin paused tortuously before finishing the myth. "She was set free by Perseus, and they married. Andromeda mothered six sons and one daughter. After her death, she was placed among the stars by Athena near her husband and mother." He lapsed into silence.

Balian turned his attention back to the sky, his mind racing. The young man next to him…he was a mystery. His eyes were haunted, and he said nothing of his past. His head always seemed to slump forward, as though he carried an invisible burden. He dared to speak out and challenge the Church. He was exasperating at times, melancholy at others, and yet Balian could see that he had a strong will and a fiery spirit.

He could still see Robin after the forest's ambush. The sickened expression on his face, the guilt, shame, and, much as he tried to hide it, the tears that had formed in his piercing green eyes. And he knew, at that moment, that Robin was no Crusader.

And he was a knight.

The same question chased itself through Balian's mind over and over: _Why?_

He finally decided to break the silence. "Why did you take the Crusade?""I didn't," Robin snapped testily. Balian gazed at him patiently. He would not give up that easily.

"I left England for the Holy Land when I was fifteen for the same reason as you: forgiveness. Is that what you want to hear? I was a tanner's assistant until your father was kind enough to take me on as a horse groom and later as one of his men-at-arms." Robin rolled over onto his side.

Balian was not finished yet. "How did you become a knight?"

"You never give up, do you?" There was another long pause. "Do you ever feel," Robin began softly, "That you have only ever been put on this earth to fulfill some purpose, be it by your will or not?" His voice dropped again. "I…I was helpless once; offered as a sacrifice of sorts. That was when I ran away to Jerusalem. I swore to protect the helpless, and that is what I have done ever since. Your father recognized that and knighted me against my objections." His voice suddenly changed in timbre. "We will be leaving early tomorrow. I suggest you rest."

And the mystery that was Robin deepened.

_I wait until I can hear Balian's steady breathing before shifting to face the stars again. Andromeda…_

_Was she, too, played against her will; sacrificed for someone else's arrogance? What did she feel at the moment she was sacrificed to the monster? Fear? Anger?_

_Regret?_

_Did she fight? Or did she simply accept her fate?_

_I didn't. I never will._

_I may be trapped, but I will never be helpless again._

TBC…

**Sorry for the short chapter, but it needed to be written.**


	5. Lineage

**Disclaimer: Everything from the movie belongs to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan ('Cept Rachel!)**

A/N:

-I apologize for the late update; I have recently taken a very demanding job at an equine center. I am working almost every weekday, and the strenuous work (in the heat) often leaves me exhausted. I still write whenever I can, but the updates will not be very regular. Rest assured, this story will be finished!

-Sorry if this seems pretty boring and a duplicate of the movie at the moment, just bear with me! It will improve once they arrive in Jerusalem.

-The English Sergeant was originally dubbed Phillip in chapter two. However, realizing that this was more of a Spanish name (or, at least it was in the 16th century: correct me if I'm wrong) , I decided to change it to Thomas. Sorry for any confusion this may cause!

-Some of the lines in this chapter said by Robin belong to the English Sergeant in the film.

-A line said by Robin "We're all mad" may be from another work of fiction, I'm not totally sure, but I think I heard it somewhere (anyone know what it's from? It's a great quote!) . If so, it does not belong to me.

-And FYI? When I say ash, I mean ash as in the tree, not ash as in the burnt remnants of the tree.

-Ok, some of the stuff in this chapter has been changed on the advice of TelcontarRulz. Hopefully it's a bit more accurate; I'm basing it off of the first draft of the script.

-Sorry if the sudden time lapse at the end of the chapter (signified by the bolded 'Hurry') confuses anyone. Just something new I figured I'd try out, sorry if it causes any confusion.

-Last note, I promise! I was sick when I wrote the last part of this chapter, so it's severely lacking. But I kinda figured that I'd kept you waiting long enough, and we're leaving for a two week vacation on Friday, so I posted anyways. I'll probably revise it later; if anyone has any suggestions, I will be VERY happy to hear them!

* * *

Anyone who knew Balian well would know that he was acting out of character. His normally calm and level headed demeanor had changed rapidly over the course of a few days. He had become tense, quicker to anger.

The truth was, he was worried. Scared out of his mind. Godfrey had weakened much quicker than anticipated and now lacked the strength to stand of his own accord.

Balian knew he was about to become responsible for another death.

No matter how many times he had been told otherwise, he knew that he had somehow caused the death of his child. How could he not, being what he was? A…bastard. Were it not for him, Anne would still be very alive. He had murdered his brother in rage. If he had only stayed in the village, accepted his punishment, his father would not have been injured and thus condemned to death. God, how could he have been so foolish? He had been born out of sin, and thus fated to ill fortune. The least he could have done was ensured that it would not befall anyone else.

Godfrey had been taken to the Hospital of St. John, which Balian hoped he could reach without getting hopelessly lost. He supposed he could have waited for Robin, who appeared to know Messina well, but he had unfortunately vanished.

The appearance of the Hospital was enough to take Balian's breath away. He doubted that even the village castle could rival this. Each ash-colored stone had been carefully set in place, and the arches and balustrades carefully and intricately carved into smooth designs. Cool sea breezes ruffled the silk curtains as they wafted through the open windows.

He didn't belong here. He was a poor, bastard blacksmith, for Christ's sake!

But he couldn't possibly belong back in his village, either, for if he had stayed, he would surely be dangling from the end of a rope; not a very desirable fate.

His father lay on a bed in the far side of the room, partially obscured by white linen curtains. His eyes were closed and Balian could hear his shallow breathing. His skin was deathly pale and bathed in perspiration.

Balian sat awkwardly at Godfrey's bedside, conflicting thoughts chasing themselves around his mind. After all, this was the man who had abandoned him to a childhood of torment. But then again, he had appeared in Balian's moment of despair, offering him the chance to seek the forgiveness he so desired…

Godfrey's hoarse voice broke him out of his reverie. "Do you know what lies in the Holy Land? A new world. He who in France had not a house is, in the Holy Land, the master of a city." A note of strength crept into his voice. "He who was master of a city begs in the gutter. There, at the end of the world, you are not what you were born , but what you have it in yourself to be."

"I hope to find forgiveness," Balian said softly. "That's all I know."

"Whatever your station, you are of my house, which means you will serve the king of Jerusalem."

Balian's brow furrowed. "What could a king ask of a man like me?"

A smile flickered over Godfrey's lips. "A better world than has ever been seen. A kingdom of conscience. A kingdom of heaven. There is peace between Christian and Muslim. We live together, or, between the king and Saladin, we try. Did you think that lay at the end of a Crusade?" Balian shook his head. "It does!" He motioned for Balian to come closer, gripping his hand with surprising strength. "My son…you are all that survives me…do NOT disappoint me."

* * *

"When we took the Holy Land, we took the Saracen trading ports. The ships carry silk and spices…and pilgrims if they have money," Thomas explained. "And Italy becomes rich as our savior intended."

"You mean the state becomes rich. The people remain poor." Robin slid up to Balian's right side. "Lazarus and the rich man. How _do_ we call ourselves Christians?"

Thomas gave Robin a stern look. Balian felt it best not to get involved.

A call went up as they stood on the parapets overlooking the sea. Balian's gaze traveled over to a group of men kneeling upon the rocks, responding in some foreign language.

"Who are those men?" he finally asked.

"Muslims," Thomas replied. "Saracens."

"And they're allowed their prayers?" Balian was unable to keep a note of…something out of his voice. What was wrong with him?

"If they pay the tax."

Robin cut across pointedly. "Subhena rabi Alladin. Praise be to God," he translated. "It is proper to praise him.

Balian surveyed the view again. "Sounds like our prayers."

_We wait until Thomas departs to find 'rations' until either of us speak again. " I think I'm beginning to understand why your fascination with the stars," Balian says with the ghost of a smile._

"_Mmm…Remember when I told you to look beyond what you see? Remember that; it applies to all aspects of life." I clear my throat awkwardly. "I am going to find Thomas, keep him from getting jumped."_

_Balian follows me. "Does that happen?"_

_I shrug uneasily. "Not so much here, but…" How do I explain this? "Your father is quite important in the court of Jerusalem, but also unpopular among some parties…you would do well to be careful, though I must acknowledge you for wearing the Ibelin colors." My voice drops a note. "Not meaning to sound intrusive, but how id your father?"_

_Balian ducks his head. "Not well."_

"_I'm sorry to hear that." I struggle to keep my voice even, but inside, I'm panicking._

_We've reached the tables. I push Balian down on one. "Wait here," I say as I slip into the busy throng. _

_I return moments later with Thomas, who has managed to secure the unique rations of Messina: fare from the sea. I choke back a laugh at Balian's incredulous expression: I suspect he thinks we're trying to poison him._

_It's good," Thomas says, off Balian's look._

_As I am not overly hungry, I decide to examine the crowd. It would have been, would still be, so easy to lose myself among them. Why did I have to run away to Jerusalem? If I had simply remained here…_

You wouldn't be any safer than you were in England. This was the only way._ I shake my head as though to rid myself of the annoying inner voice and survey the faces again only to curse myself._

_Bad fortune seems to follow me like a plague._

_Guy de Lusignan rudely taps the table in front of Balian with a carved stick several times. Balian barely spares him a glance._

"_When the king is dead," he says snidely, "Jerusalem will be no place for friends of Muslims. Or traitors to Christendom. Like your father." Balian, much to his credit, barely reacts._

"_I am Guy de Lusignan." Again, Balian ignores him. "Remember that name. And me." He snaps the stick against Balian's nose._

_My blood boils._

_Balian wrenches the stick away and drops it on the table without a word. "Keep it," Guy says with an unpleasant sneer as he struts away._

"_My Lord!" Balian calls after him, his voice laced with sarcasm. He picks up the stick and studies it with contempt. "How will you ride if you have no stick to beat the horse?"_

_He flings it back at Guy as though it is white hot._

_I allow myself to smile. I've taught him well._

_Thomas leans forward. "He will be king in Jerusalem one day," he says in a low voice._

"_And may God have mercy on us all," I add. Thomas gives me The Look again. "What?"_

_He shakes his head. "I still find it difficult to believe you are a knight."_

"_It was against my objections, do you not remember?" I snap testily._

"_I remember thinking you were mad."_

"_We're all mad."_

* * *

_The sun has long since set. The halls are illuminated by a smoky orange light cast by tallow candles. Even so, some stubborn patches remain dark. Much like the world itself. A few notes of a lamenting song break through the near silence as Thomas and I wind through the maze of halls toward the courtyard. Any animosity between the two of us has been forgotten in light of the situation._

_The courtyard is lit by a glowing bonfire. Even with his back to us, I can tell that the man hunched before the fire is Balian. The soft murmurings of prayer reach my ears. "Balian!" Thomas calls._

_He turns at the sound of his name. His features, illuminated by the fire, clearly show the dread and trepidation I know he has been feeling for the past few days._

_But our purpose is most definitely not what he expects. _

_I fly down the stairs and cross over to him in five steps. Balian straightens, his dark eyes meeting mine. "I'm sorry," I mutter._

_Thomas appears behind me, shoving a white garment into Balian's hands. "Put that on."_

_I look away as Balian begins to remove his shirt. For a few moments, the rustling of cloth can be heard. When I turn back, Balian is clad in a white robe. With the fire's light behind him, he looks almost ethereal. I mentally kick myself to dispell the illusion as Thomas speaks again._

"_Go with Robin," he instructs Balian. "I will follow."_

_There is confusion written over Balian's features. I lower my head, as though ashamed, before uttering one word:_

* * *

"_**Hurry."**_

* * *

_Thomas said quietly as he leads Balian on through a white curtain. I follow him along with another five of Godfrey's knights like a guard of honor. _

_Thomas pauses before a final curtain. "I can go no further," he adds as he ushers Balian through one final curtain. I break from my fellow knights and follow through the curtain as requested by Godfrey. _

_I recognize the scene before me well, though I did not experience it in Messina, nor an infirmary. And, assuming that my memory is functioning properly, I do not recall my lord being on his deathbed. _

_And then there was the small fact that we, in no way whatsoever, are related._

_But the solemn air is exactly identical._

_After I have taken my place to the far right of the room, Brother Paul addresses Balian. "Get on your knees." He lowers his head as though to accentuate his instruction. Balian complies, still looking unsure._

_Paul and the physician present grasp Godfrey's arms to support him as he stands. He pushes them away, his full attention on Balian. "Be without fear in the face of your enemies," he begins in a weak, rasping voice. "Be brave and upright that God may love thee. Speak the truth always, even if it leads to your death--" Here, I lower my head slightly. The on part of the oath I have never been able to uphold… "Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong. That is your oath." Limbs trembling, he removes the he removes the gold ring set adorning him right hand and passes it on to Balian, who accepts it uncertainly. Godfrey then raises a hand and cuffs Balian, the force of the blow nearly sending the younger man reeling. "And that's so you remember it," he admonished, collapsing back into the chair._

_With a last surge of strength, he lifts the sword of Ibelin, presenting it to his son._

"_Arise a knight, and baron of Ibelin," Paul murmurs._

_A slight whisper escapes from Godfrey's lips. His strength fails, and he falls forward. Balian drops back to his knees, gripping his father's shoulders to support him. Godfrey's clasps his son's face with both hands. "Defend the king," he rasps. "If the king is no more, protect the people." Spent, he falls back again._

_Paul lays a hand on his back. "It is time now, my lord, to confess to holy God, not your son. Are you sorry for all your sins?"_

_Godfrey's gaze falls on Balian again, the corners of his mouth twitching. "For all…but one," he says with his final breath, before his life leaves him._

_Paul motions for the Holy Oil, marking Godfrey's forehead, enunciating the final rites. _

_Balian's head tilts back, as though following his father's soul to heaven. Mine, however, lowers, the stirrings of guilt now stronger than ever._

TBC…

**Ah…we have arrived at that oh-so-wonderful point in the movie. Will develop into AU from here on out. If you've read the updated summary (Not to mention the various disclaimers…) there is now one burning question…Who is Rachel? I personally think it's pretty obvious, but then again, I'm the author…Please review!**


	6. Perilous Journey

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from the film. That honor belongs to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan.**

A/N:  
-I'm back! No, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth (yet…) Sorry for the delay, first, school started, then the computer with all of my documents was occupied (which is why I started writing another story -- it was on a different computer, and I couldn't do that with this one, 'cause I'd already started the chapter and had no way to transfer the chapter). Oh, and I also had most of this written down in a notebook, but wouldn't you know it? It fell apart! And I lost all my writing! OK, enough griping. Here is chapter five in all of its crappiness! I DID write most of this on vacation…  
-Just a note on reviewing - especially anonymous reviews: a friend of mine told me that they had been unable to submit an anonymous review. Turns out that I had that particular feature disabled. It's enabled now, so if you'd like to leave a review, it should work. I'd like to hear from you!  
-Thanks to Telcontar Rulz for helping me with some of the information in this chapter.

* * *

_Godfrey received a proper Christian burial the next day. I doubt they even waited until the body was cold, for fear of bad humors.  
I now stand before the new marker, sea breezes whipping my copper hair about my face.  
I'm alone. I haven't been for some time. At least, not in the open. That knowledge makes me slightly anxious, but no matter. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.  
That's what got me into this whole mess.  
I let my breath out slowly. "I suppose I should have told you -- I should have told you a long time ago. I have been deceitful. I--" My breath catches. Even now, I cannot say it.  
Even now, I am still afraid. I sink to the ground in a haze of grief, my chest heaving. All speech eludes me, save for two words:  
"Forgive me..."_

_

* * *

_Balian sighed and toyed with the ring on his right hand for what seemed like the hundredth time since his father had passed it on to him. It was a thick gold band set with a large reddish stone, and looked downright unnatural on his work roughened hand. As he twisted it around his fourth finger, Balian absently wondered if his innocuous actions were some sort of sacrilege. A moment later, he mentally chided himself for his stupidity.  
Jesus Christ! He had just been charged with his father's lands, duties, responsibilities...not to mention the duty of defending both the king and the people of the Holy Land, and here he was, worrying about whether fiddling with a ring was some sort of sin!  
Balian drew his ring less hand over his face. God, he was so tired...sleep had been impossible. His mind had never been in such turmoil. And yet, every thought and worry led back to the same question:  
What now?  
"A ship leaves for Jerusalem tomorrow." Balian started slightly at the sound of Paul's voice. The man had a habit of appearing and disappearing suddenly, to say nothing of his apparent ability to read minds.  
Balian nodded, as though agreeing. "Tomorrow, then." There was a pause. "Do you know where Robin is?"  
Paul shrugged uncertainly. "The docks, I believe. Why do you ask?"

* * *

_I'm not too sure how long I've been at the docks. Time seems irrelevant in my current state. The guilt living within me for the past seven years now increased tenfold; a nest of writhing snakes in the pit of my stomach. Why did I never tell Godfrey the truth? Why did I even lie to him? Why am I now lying to Balian?  
Why is a lie always readily accepted while the truth is punished?  
"You're a coward," I mutter to my reflection. "A bloody coward and--"  
"Robin!"  
I bite my tongue to stop myself from continuing with what probably been a foul oath and turn to face Balian. "How did--" I catch myself and incline my head. "Milord."  
Balian grimaces. "Please don't."  
"Don't what?"  
"Call me...that."  
Though it's a relief to hear his disdain for hierarchy, I arch my eyebrows nonetheless. "I served your father, now I serve you. As such..." I trail off, not needing to finish.  
Silence, broken only by the lapping of the waves descends on us. I decide to break it. "Have you decided?"  
Balian nods. "I leave tomorrow."  
"I pray that your voyage is safe."  
"You are not coming?"  
I look away. "I leave one week from tomorrow. or near enough. I--have some unfinished business here."  
Balian raises his eyebrows as though in understanding. I know what it must sound like -- I know what he's thinking. It's not that! my mind screams. But how can I tell him that without him knowing what I have strived to keep hidden?  
Would that even be bad? Aside from it almost certainly ending in my death, of course.  
I heave a sigh. "I take my leave. may Poseidon be merciful." And then I stride away without looking back._

_

* * *

_The day of Balian's departure was a clear, cool one. Balian stood on the docks with Thomas, who would accompany him to the Holy Land, and Paul, who had come to see them off. Robin was nowhere to be seen.  
"You sail now for Jerusalem, as your father wished; I'll follow within the week. Now, the voyage is perilous. If God has purpose for you there, he'll keep you safe in his hands. If not..." here, Paul stepped forward with a seemingly misplaced smile. "God bless you."  
Balian inclined his head, then watched as the Hospitaller's black surcoat disappeared among the crowds.  
Thomas cleared his throat. "We should be off, milord." Balian groaned inwardly and allowed himself to be guided up the gangplank.  
He grimaced yet again as he stepped on the boat -- ship. He immediately disliked the feeling of the deck shifting beneath his feet. "How long is the voyage?" he finally asked, already dreading the answer.  
"The ship docks at Ascalon in three months. Then it is about a weeks ride to Jerusalem."  
Three months. Three months of nothing but water and tossing waves. He closed his eyes as the call to cast off was raised.  
It sounded more like an execution order.  
By the time Balian opened his eyes again, Messina was already vanishing into the distance.

* * *

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

* * *

Bright. It was so bright he could see the piercing rays even beneath his closed lids. Balian forced his eyes open, only to close them once again upon finding himself looking at a blinding orb of fire.  
Orb of fire? No, that couldn't be right. It was dark…**_  
Another wave pitched over the bow. The dark clouds drew closer, destroying every hope of outrunning the gale. The rain began to fall…_**  
Balian groaned and shifted his head to the side, amazed at how so small a movement took so much effort. He pushed his upper body off the wooden hull. He could feel rough grains scraping against his skin as he slid off his perch, landing with a soft thud upon wet sand.  
Sand? They couldn't have docked already; the storm would have delayed their arrival at Ascalon!  
**_The ship pitched sharply, sending passengers and objects alike to the port side. Balian bowed his head, sending rivers of moisture down his features. His hand closed around the silver crucifix, silently praying that he would survive…he had to…for his wife's soul…forgiveness… A sudden bolt of lightning illuminated the hold, throwing the terrified faces into sharp relief. Someone was screaming…_**  
Something seemed to fall away inside Balian's mind, the relief over having set his feet on dry land vanishing as quickly as it had come. Now, it was replaced with a feeling of sickening dread, then horror as he looked up, his eyes falling upon a grisly sight.  
The remnants of the ship were scattered up and down a deserted beach; splinters of wood, shreds of cloth, frayed rope. The bodies lay among them; some sporting bruises, others, clean wounds. Some were already showing signs of bloating from their time in the water, and all were tinged with the pale grey pallor of death. The first of the seagulls had descended, thrilled at the prospect of the feast now washed up.  
Balian was the only survivor.  
As though watching from outside his body, Balian tried to call out, hoping, praying that someone else had survived. His words caught in his parched throat, making him cough; he must have swallowed an ungodly amount of saltwater. He stumbled forward, clutching the sword of Ibelin against his body like a lifeline. He stumbled through the graveyard, his eyes on the ground, searching for something – anything – that would help.  
He dropped to his knees beside a tarnished bottle. He uncorked it, and eagerly swallowed a quarter, desperate for liquid. But the stale wine wasn't enough; he needed water.  
Balian almost smiled at the irony; here he was, dehydrated, and surrounded by undrinkable water. For some reason, he found himself thinking of Robin. This was exactly the type of situation he would laugh at…  
An insistent whinny cut through his thoughts. Balian frowned and looked up the beach, imagining that he was hearing things. The idea quickly vanished as his eyes found the origin of the sound.  
**_Above the thunder, an animal's terrified scream could be heard…_**  
Balian came up alongside an intact section of the ships hull. A magnificent horse shifted inside, snorting and braying. By some miracle, the stallion had been unharmed by the wreck. It was strange that they should have been the lucky ones…  
**_"If God has purpose for you there, he'll keep you safe in his hands."_**  
Balian shuddered as the memory of the monk's words came back to him. At the time, he had thought them odd, as though he had known what would become of the ship…  
He shook his head; now was not the time for speculation or superstitions. He had washed up in the Holy Land, or so he assumed, so Jerusalem had to be one step closer. Balian approached the horse cautiously, remembering that a frightened or wounded animal was very dangerous. He tugged the netting surrounding the horse down. The knot binding the horse's ankle presented more of a problem. The rope had been bound tightly, but had been weakened by the salt water and debris. Balian gripped the horse's shank gently and snapped the rope.  
The horse whinnied wildly, tasting freedom. It leapt forward, breaking into a gallop up the beach. Balian stumbled after it, only to be beset by dizziness from the sudden movement. He collapsed into the sand.  
No!  
He leapt back to his feet, but by then, it was too late. The horse had gained too much distance, and was now heading into the desert.

Balian watched it leave hopelessly. Though the stallion was young and strong but would surely die in the desert. And without the horse, Balian was left without a means to cross the desert; save, on foot. Without knowledge of the land, he had no hope of finding any sort of civilization, no hope of rescue…

He was truly stranded.

* * *

Balian stumbled forward, forcing one foot in front of the other. His head was bowed in an attempt to protect his face and eyes from the stinging grains of sand whipped up by the strong wind. His father's sword was flung over his shoulder, an unbearable weight in the stifling heat.  
Perhaps wandering off into the desert hadn't been the smartest idea, but had he remained on the beach, he would have had no chance whatsoever of being found. There had been no trails leading to or from the beach, no docks…  
But the wind could have blown away any trails that could have been made, a nagging voice said from the back of his mind.  
Balian groaned and continued forward, trying to ignore his intolerable thirst. At first, it had seemed like an immense body of water was just on the horizon, but he had soon realized that the only ocean was an ocean of sand…the glimmer that was not unlike that of water was only a cruel trick of the eyes. It felt like his body would simply crumble into dust…he remembered Robin speaking of how a body never rotted in the desert…how it simply dried out until only a withered husk was left…he shook his head…Robin always had a fascination with the unusual, the macabre…  
He forced himself up yet another sandy hill. And just below it lay a wadi.  
Balian's cry of relief was caught in his parched throat. He stumbled, then ran forward, finally collapsing on the bank. Using a cupped hand, he shoveled water into his mouth with desperation, not caring about the slightly gritty quality of the water, nor the muddy taste…all his mind registered was the relief of the liquid sliding down his throat.  
As he lay there in the mud, he slowly became aware of something else: a soft clopping sound, followed by a whicker.  
Balian slowly raised his head to look upon the horse he had lost on the beach. It skittishly approached the pool of water, its ears flickering back and forth as it lowered its muzzle to drink.  
Balian slowly pushed himself to his knees. The horse barely spared a glance at him. Without sparing another thought, Balian pushed himself upright and leapt across the pond, reaching for the horse's tattered reins.  
The stallion gave a surprised squeal and backed up, but to no avail: Balian had managed to grasp the reins. "Whoa," he murmured, trying to calm the animal. "Whoa." He raised a hand to its velvety nose. "Whoa."  
The horse allowed Balian to lead it to the shelter of a palm. Neither could last long in this heat without some form of shade. He gave the horse a pat on the shoulder, and, after ensuring that it wouldn't run off again, bent to retrieve his discarded sword.  
He turned at the sound of a shout to face two mounted Arabs. One was dressed like a scholar; the other was dripping with shimmering chain mail and silks.  
Balian pushed himself onto his feet, using the sword for balance. Was it possible that he was rescued? He doubted it; the shout had sounded rather hostile.  
The plainer of the two riders rode forward. "He says, that is his horse," he said, apparently translating the shout.  
Balian spun around, giving the horse a once-over, looking for a brand of some sign of ownership. Seeing none, he responded, "Why would it be his horse?"  
The Arab spread his arms and said with the air of stating the obvious, "Because it is on his land!"  
Balian groaned inwardly; this, too, had been the general attitude of the lords in France, and even then, it had disgusted him. He laid a hand on the horse's neck. "I took this horse from the sea!"  
The man turned to translate to his apparent master. Another angry shout followed. "He says you are a great liar," the servant translated. "And he will fight you because you are a liar."  
Over a damn horse? "I have no desire to fight."  
"Then you must give him the horse!"  
Balian mulled it over for a second. He'd had enough of violence, and the last thing he wanted was to be the cause of another death. Still, giving up the horse would be as good as signing his own death warrant, since he obviously couldn't wander the desert for long on foot. The horse was his only lifeline, the only way to get to Jerusalem…He wouldn't give up his search for redemption that easily. He grimaced and drew his sword, assuming a high guard. "No."  
His actions needed no translation. The Saracen knight charged forward, hurling a deadly-looking silver lance at Balian with a mighty yell. Balian twisted out of the way, knocking the lance aside. The knight charged again, this time aiming a sword blow at Balian's head. He barely managed to deflect it, but the force of the blow brought the young baron to his knees.  
Reeling, Balian forced himself to his feet. "Fight me fairly!" he shouted.  
"Why? Why should he?" the servant said again, translating. "He is a knight."  
To that Balian had no response. No, wait…  
"And I'm the Baron of Ibelin!" he rebuked as the memory slid back into his mind.  
The servant translated Balian's statement with a touch of confusion in his voice. The knight immediately responded angrily, or so it sounded.  
"He says the Baron of Ibelin is old. He knew him at Damascus."  
"I am the new one." What else could Balian say?  
His words seemed to have the desired effect, though: the Saracen dismounted, throwing his green silk cloak aside, his face showing nothing but contempt for the ragged young man before him. Balian, again, assumed 'the guard of the hawk', while the Saracen rested his own slightly curved weapon on an arm raised above his head, ready to strike.  
Balian barely received a warning before the knight struck, metal meeting metal in a bone-rattling clang. This was unlike any fight Balian had been involved in before: he was not facing a peasant forced into the army, nor a rabble of untrained guardsmen. The adversary he now faced was clearly a seasoned warrior, every blow pushing Balian back, shaking his body to the very core, the knight's servant shouting all the while in the background, trying to break up the battle.  
The knight swung lower, and Balian jumped back to avoid being gutted. His sudden movement seemed to throw the other off balance for a moment, and Balian immediately took advantage of the situation, slamming his unarmored body against the knight, managing to knock the curved sword from his adversary's grasp. Balian then managed to land a backhanded blow to the other.  
"That's enough!" the servant yelled.  
The knight, however, leaped back, wrenching the discarded lance from the sand and slung it at Balian's chest, forcing him to move back again, the sharp point narrowly avoiding his stomach.  
"Stop!"  
Sensing a moment of weakness, Balian managed to push the lance aside. As though watching from outside of his body, his sword's glimmering blade connected against the knight's throat. A sickening metallic smell filled the air as blood spurted from the severed artery. With a strangled cry, the knight fell to the ground. The servant's horse screamed in fright as blood flew into its eyes. It reared, throwing the rider, before running off into the deserts.  
Balian approached the unconscious servant, considering. He raised his sword and brought it down. The bloodied tip buried deep into the sand beside the man's head.  
The servant slowly regained consciousness, blinking in confusion at the young, blood spattered man standing over him.  
"You've taken it very well that I've killed your master," Balian said.  
"It was the end of his time. All is as God wills it. Now, finish this."  
Balian slowly raised his sword again, angling the sharp end at the other man's throat. Could he? Yes, this man had seen him kill one of the Saracen knights, but he had taken no part in the fight. There was no reason to kill him. He had only defended his life against the Saracen knight, but to kill a defenseless man was no better than murder. He'd done enough murder to last a lifetime…  
**_"Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong…"_**

Balian withdrew his sword and sighed. "Take me to Jerusalem."_  
_  
TBC…

**Yeah, I'm just going to leave it at that. Please Review!  
**


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